unknown to you, I must add, that I felt myself obliged to communicate
the circumstance candidly, some days ago, to the Kreis-Director, Herr
von Falkenstein; for in this month the money becomes due which the King
has the disposal of, and which, as you are aware, I last winter
petitioned might be appropriated to found a school of music here. The
King, who expressed himself in a very kind manner towards me, when he
came to one of our subscription concerts, seemed well disposed to give
his consent; then came Falkenstein to ask me if I would pledge myself
(which really was my idea at that time) to organize this music school
for some years to come. I now no longer could or would do this, so I
thought it best to tell him the whole affair. He gave me his faithful
promise to preserve the strictest silence, and I in turn agreed to give
him due notice if I settled to go to Berlin, because that, he said,
might be prejudicial to the plan of the music school; and thus it now
stands.
I await the arrival of the statutes; at all events an opportunity may
then occur to render an occasional service to the cause there, and to
place many things on a better footing, and perhaps to introduce a better
system into the whole class, and some good would be thus effected.
The examples which you quote of the advantage of public opinion
interested me very much, but I own were far from pleasing to me. I do
not call that public opinion, which is shown by sending anonymous and
libellous verses, and by hissing an old masterpiece.[45] You will
perhaps say this is only the beginning; but that is the very point; if a
thing is not rightly begun it never comes to a good end, and I do not
believe that public _tracasseries_ can pave the way to public opinion;
indeed, I believe that such things have always existed, and always will
exist, independent of the _vox populi_, which is the _vox Dei_. It would
be more important to me if you would tell me some particulars of the
_curiosa_ which are related of Minister Schön; pray do this if you
possibly can. He seems to be a determined fellow!--Your
FELIX.
TO HERR X----.
Leipzig, January 22nd, 1841.
Sir,
I beg to offer you my thanks for the confidence you have shown me by
your polite letter, and the accompanying music. I have looked over your
overture with much pleasure, and discovered many unmistakable traces of
talent in it, so that I should rejoice to have an opportunity of seeing
some more new works of yours, and thus to make your musical acquaintance
in a more intimate and confidential manner. The greater part of the
instrumentation, and especially the melodious passage which is in fact
the principal subject, pleased me much. If I were to find any fault, it
would be one with which I have often reproached myself in my own works;
in the very overtures you allude to, sometimes in a greater, and
sometimes in a lesser degree. It is often very difficult, in such
fantastical airy subjects, to hit the right medium. If you grasp it too
firmly, it is apt to become formal and prosaic; and if too delicately,
it dissolves into air and melody, and does not become a defined form.
This last rock you seem to have split upon; in many passages, especially
at the very beginning, but also here and there in other parts, and
towards the close again, I feel the want of a musical well-defined form,
the outlines of which I can recognize, however misty, and grasp and
enjoy. I should like, besides the _meno allegro_, to see some other more
definite idea, and to have it worked out; only then, the other rock is
too apt to show itself, and modulations be seen, where there should be
nothing but moonlight. In order, however, to give free course to these
poetical thoughts, the spirit of entire supremacy must hover over the
whole (that fact should not become too dry, nor fancy too misty); and it
is only where this complete mastery over thought and arrangement exists,
that the reins may be given to imagination. This is the very point which
we are all obliged, more or less, to study; I hope you will not be
offended, therefore, that I do not find this problem entirely solved in
your work either; in your future productions, with which I hope to
become acquainted, the connection will, no doubt, be closer, and my
critical remarks rendered unnecessary.--I am, with sincere esteem,
yours,
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO HIS MOTHER.
Leipzig, January 25th, 1841.
... This is the thirty-fifth letter I have written since the day before
yesterday; it makes me quite uneasy to see how the flood swells, if a
few days elapse without my stemming it, and guarding against it.
Variations from Lausitz and Mayence; overtures from Hanover, Copenhagen,
Brunswick, and Rudolstadt; German Fatherland songs from Weimar,
Brunswick, and Berlin, the latter of which I am to set to music, and the
former to look over and take to a publisher: and all these accompanied
by such amiable, polite letters, that I should be ashamed if I were not
to reply to them in as amiable and kind a manner as I possibly can. But
who can give me back the precious days which pass away in these things?
Add to this, persons who wish to be examined, eagerly awaiting my report
for their anxious relatives, whether they are to become professional
musicians or not; two Rhenish youths are here at this moment for that
purpose, and the verdict is to be given in the course of a few hours. It
is really a heavy responsibility, and I often think of La Fontaine’s
rat, who retired into a cheese, and thence delivered oracles.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, February 13th, 1841.
My dear Brother,
It is curious how certain years elapse, when both time and people seem
to stand quietly still; and then again come weeks, when everything seems
to run about like billiard balls, making cannons, and losing and winning
hazards, etc. etc. (_vide_ the Temperance Hotel in Gohlis). Such has
been the case with me during the last few months. Since you were here,
everything is so far advanced and altered, that it would take me a week
at least, and walks innumerable, without letting you utter a word,
before I could tell you all, and probably it has been the same with you.
The Berlin affair is much in my thoughts, and is a subject for serious
consideration. I doubt whether it will ever lead to _that_ result which
we both (I believe) would prefer; for I still have misgivings as to
Berlin being a soil where a person of my profession could feel even
tolerably at home, in spite of all honours and money, but the mere offer
in itself gives me an inward impulse, a certain satisfaction, which is
of infinite value to me, even if I were never to speak of it to any one;
in a word, I feel that an honour has been done me, and I rejoice in it.
Massow writes in his last letter, which I received before yours, that
the King wishes to delay the definitive arrangement of the Academy till
I go to Berlin in spring; whether I choose to make proposals in writing
as to the alteration of the statutes which he sends me, he leaves
entirely to my own decision. As this point is left to myself, and I
would far rather _not_ write at all on the subject, I shall delay doing
so till I know to a certainty whether I go to Berlin in spring or not,
and only in the latter case write. Remarkable, very remarkable these
statutes are, especially those of the school for composition. Imagine!
out of eleven different branches of instruction which they have
instituted, seven are positively useless, and indeed preposterous. What
do you think of the following, among others? No. 8. “The relation Music
bears to the other arts, especially to the _plastic_ and to the stage;”
and also No. 11, “A guide to the spiritual and worldly Drama.” I
formerly read these things in the Government paper, and laughed at them;
but when a grave minister or official actually sends such stuff, it is
pitiable. Pray do go to some public place where newspapers are
collected, and send me the one which advertises this course, and where
the teachers of the different branches are named. I require these _data_
thoroughly to understand the affair. It is all in the worst possible
state; you will say this is the very reason why I should try to
extricate it. In that case there would indeed be plenty to do, if I
could only think myself the man to do it; to improve what is already
good, or to create what is new and good, would be an undertaking that I
should rejoice in, and which might be learned, even if there were no
previous knowledge of the subject; but to change what is positively bad
into better things, is both a hard and a thankless task.
A very momentous change has taken place here since what is called the
King’s concert. You cannot think what a good impulse the mere visit of
the King, and his really cordial and kind approbation, has imparted to
our concerts here. A person is almost to be envied who, by pure, kindly,
natural feelings, and words of the same tenor, can give such an
immediate impetus, were it not after all quite as difficult, in such a
position, to preserve such feelings (which is the main point) as it is
with us to maintain many less essential. By his demeanour here, us well
as by the way in which he has sounded forth our praises in Dresden, he
has facilitated a number of things for us which were not thought of
formerly. Since that time, we have strangers from Dresden at every
concert, and the female singers there vie with each other in their
efforts to appear in public here. The grant, too, of the legacy
bequeathed two years ago, will now probably be entirely devoted to
musical purposes, and perhaps be finally decided this month. All these
are only mere outlines; but how many details I might have added during
the walks I alluded to! There has been one thing, however, and that
indeed the chief thing, which I have not been able to accomplish during
all these winter months, and that is composition. I sent my “Hymn of
Praise” to be published, and have written a couple of songs; this is
however all, and little enough too.
Now as to literature, I am but in a poor state in that respect. Last
week I had scarcely time to eat or to sleep my _pensum_, without being
fairly stranded, and no possibility of reading. I read Immermann’s
‘Münchhausen’ some time ago, but only the first volume; and I must
confess that the first half of it, which you too do not praise,
displeased me so much, that I was out of sorts with the second also,
although I do not deny the great beauties in the second Westphalian
portion, and in all those works of his which I have seen. I feel the
same with regard to X----’s critical article. When I see an old
companion, endowed by a kind Providence with every good capability,
roaming about for many long years, employing his really fine talents in
writing for newspapers, and criticizing a book which perhaps had better
never have been written (but for the money the bookseller gave for it),
and with these exceptions bringing nothing of his own into the world,
advancing nothing and contributing nothing, I cannot help thinking that
it is the greatest blasphemy which can be committed against Providence,
and so I don’t wish to know anything of his clever criticisms, and feel
a much higher esteem for every honest bookbinder and cobbler. This is,
no doubt, one-sided, and too severe also; but I know nothing worse than
the abuse, or non-use of God’s gifts, and have no sympathy for those who
trifle with them.
Fie, for shame! what a cynical tone I have adopted; and I have not yet
thanked you for all the good and loving and kind things you say to me of
my music! But you must not estimate it so highly in contradistinction to
that of others. To deserve all your praise, it ought to be very much
better; and this I hope it will one day become. At all events, I think
that the recitative, and the middle of my “Hymn of Praise” are more
fervent and spirited than anything I have yet written. When shall we be
able to sing it to you! With this I close my letter. Write to me soon
again.--Your
FELIX.
TO FANNY HENSEL, BERLIN.
Leipzig, February 14th, 1841.
Salut et Fraternité!
Have you read the wrathful letter which the Emperor of China wrote to
Lin, with a bright red pencil? Were this the fashion with us, I would
write to you to-day with a grass-green pencil, or with a sky-blue one,
or with whatever colour a pleasant pencil ought to assume, in gratitude
for your admirable epistle on my birthday. My especial thanks also for
the kind and friendly interest you have shown in the faithful Eckert; he
is a sound, practical musician, and further than this, in my opinion (to
which I sometimes adhere for twenty-four hours), no man should concern
himself about another. Whether a person be anything extraordinary,
unique, etc., is entirely a private matter. But in this world, every one
ought to be honest and useful, and he who is not so, must and ought to
be abused, from the Lord Chamberlain to the cobbler. Of all the young
people whom I have had anything to do with here, he is the most
good-natured, and by far the most inoffensive; and these are two
precious qualities.
Don’t, I beg, write me anything more about your Sunday music, it is
really a sin and a shame that I have not heard it; but though I feel so
provoked at this, it is equally vexatious that you have heard none of
our truly brilliant subscription concerts. I tell you we glitter
brightly--in Bengal fire. The other day, in our last historical concert
(Beethoven), Herr Schmidt was suddenly taken ill, and could not sing to
his “Ferne Geliebte” in the “Liederkreis.” In the middle of the first
part David said, “I see Madame Devrient.” She had arrived that morning
by rail, and was to return next day. So during an interval, I went up to
her, was vastly polite, and she agreed to sing “Adelaide;” on which an
old piano was carried into the orchestra from the anteroom. This was
greeted with much applause, for people suspected that Devrient was
coming. So come she did, in a shabby travelling costume, and Leipzig
bellowed and shouted without end. She took off her bonnet before the
_publicum_, and pointed to her black pelisse, as if to apologize for it.
I believe they are still applauding! She sang beautifully, and there was
a grand flourish of trumpets in her honour, and the audience clapped
their hands, till not a single bow of the shabby pelisse was any longer
visible. The next time we are to have a medley of Molique, Kalliwoda,
and Lipinski,--and thus, according to Franck’s witticism, we descend
from Adam to Holtei.
As to the _tempi_ in my Psalm, all I have to say is, that the passage of
the Jordan must be kept very watery; it would have a good effect if the
chorus were to reel to and fro, that people might think they saw the
waves; here we have achieved this effect. If you do not know how to
take the other _tempi_, ask G---- about them. He understands that
capitally in my Psalms. With submission, allow me to suggest that the
last movement be taken very slow indeed, as it is called “Sing to the
Lord for ever and ever,” and ought therefore to last for a very long
time! Forgive this dreadful joke. Adieu, dear Fanny.--Your
FELIX.
TO PASTOR JULIUS SCHUBRING, DESSAU.
Leipzig, February 27th, 1841.
Dear Schubring,
Thank you a thousand times for your friendly letter, which caused me
much pleasure, and was a most welcome birthday gift. Our correspondence
had certainly become rather threadbare, but pray don’t give up sending
me your little notes of introduction; large letters would indeed be
better, but in default of these I must be contented with little ones,
and you well know that they will always be received with joy, and those
who bring them welcomed to the best of my ability.
Now for my critical spectacles, and a reply about your Becker
“Rheinlied.” I like it very much; it is well written, and sounds joyous
and exhilarating, but (for a _but_ must of course be uttered by every
critic) the whole poem is quite unsuitable for composition, and
essentially unmusical. I am well aware that in saying this, I rashly
throw down the gauntlet both to you, and many of my colleagues in
Germany; but such is my opinion, and the worst part of it is, that I am
confirmed in it by most of the compositions that I know. (For Heaven’s
sake, let this remain a secret between us, otherwise, as journalists
publish every trifle nowadays, I may possibly be some day conveyed
across the frontiers as a Frenchman.) But, jesting apart, I can only
imagine music when I can realize the mood from which it emanates; mere
artistically correct tones to suit the rhythm of the poetry, becoming
_forte_ when the words are vehement, and _piano_ when they are meek,
sounding very pretty, but expressing nothing,--I never yet could
comprehend; and still such is the only music I can discover for this
poem. Neither forcible, nor effective, nor poetical, but only
supplementary, collateral, musical music. The latter, however, I do not
choose to write. In such cases, the fable of the two vases often recurs
to me, who set off together on a voyage, but in rolling to and fro one
smashed his companion, the one being made of clay and the other of iron.
Besides, I consider the poem to be neither bold nor cautious, neither
enthusiastic nor stoical, but only very positive, very practical, very
suitable indeed for many at the present day; however, I cannot even
momentarily interest myself in any object of which I can perceive the
momentary nature, and from which I can expect no durability. I am
becoming philosophical; pray forgive me, and forgive the whole
diatribe, which is uncivil besides, because you composed the song
yourself. But as you have an immense majority of musicians on your side,
you will not, I think, be offended by my dissentient protestation, but
probably rather disposed to laugh at it. I could not help coming out
with what I thought.
You wish to know how I am. As well as possible. Yet if we see each other
in the course of a few weeks, you may perhaps hear the same complaints
from me that you did last year. I often thought of them since, and
laughed at them, because I was so well and so gay; but for a week past
such languor seems to creep over me, that, as I told you, I might sing
the very same old song of a year ago. I don’t know whether this arises
from the approach of spring, or the enormous quantity of music which I
was engaged in during the winter, and which has fairly exhausted me; for
several years past the two always come together. But I believe it is the
latter; I have conducted fifteen public performances since
January,--enough to knock up any man. Farewell, my dear friend.--Your
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
TO PAUL MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Leipzig, March 3rd, 1841.
Dear Paul,
You gave me extreme pleasure by the _brochure_[46] you sent me
yesterday, and after having exulted not a little in its contents, I must
now thank you much for having forwarded it to me. I read of it in the
‘Allgemeine Zeitung,’ but had it not been for your kindness, this clever
publication would not have found its way to my room for many a day. I
have read it through twice with the deepest attention, and agree with
you that it is a most remarkable sign of the present time in Prussia,
that nothing more true, more candid, or more sober in form and style
could be desired, and that a year ago a similar pamphlet could not have
appeared. In the meanwhile, it is prohibited, and we shall soon see in
how far it is merely an individual lofty spirit expressing his views, or
a spirit that has really impressed and fired the whole community, for
the great misfortune with us has always been want of unanimity, of
_esprit de corps_. A sorrowful feeling oppresses me when I so surely
see, or think I see, that the path lies open, level and plain, on which
the whole of Germany might receive a development which it probably never
had, except in years of war, and not even then, because these years of
war were years of violence also: a path on which no one would lose, and
all would gain in life, power, movement, and activity; this path is
likewise that of truth, and honour, and fidelity to promises, and yet
time after time it is never trodden, while new reasons are perpetually
found for avoiding it. This is most melancholy! In the meantime it is
fortunate that there are people who know how to set forth, what by far
the greater number feel, but cannot express. I should have to quote the
whole of the pamphlet, to name all the particular passages written so
entirely in consonance with the feelings of my heart; but I started up
from joy at both the little paragraphs on the Dantzic letter and
Hanover, for they came in so naturally, and quite as a matter of course;
and then the glorious close! As I said before, the next fortnight will
prove, whether such a spirit has the right on his side in these days,
not merely in theory but in practice. God grant it may be so!
If you hear anything further of your statesman[47] (I do not believe the
_brochure_ is his, though quite in accordance with his creed), or any
more details that can be communicated to me, I beg you will not fail to
do so. I begin to interest myself very much in this man. What a glorious
contrast this work forms to all the French ones of last year that I
have seen. Here is indeed real substance, not merely subtleties;
vigorous truth and inborn dignity, not merely well-bred politeness or
evasion of the laws.
But the work is prohibited! This is a humiliation, even amid all my
delight. Farewell; thank you again cordially for your kindness
always.--Your
FELIX.
TO JULIUS RIETZ, MUSIC DIRECTOR AT DÜSSELDORF, (NOW CAPELLMEISTER AT
DRESDEN.)
Leipzig, April 23rd, 1841.
Add
Dear Rietz,